Losing Marbles
by ratchetblack
Summary: ABANDONED- An unforseen collision between universes throws Wilson into a parallel reality where he's in a psych ward and nobody really knows who he is. /eventual HouseWilson/
1. Duplicity

_Somewhere outside of space and time..._

((Hah. Finally done with my sector. It's been a while since it was this neat-- even the dark nebulas are synched. Need some help with yours?))

((Go douse a nova, you uppity dolt. I've still got a few more planets to place-- these things are annoying. One maladjustment with their star-distance and they can dry out like plasma in antimatter.))

((Oh. I'll, er... leave you to it, then.))

((By all means-- wait. What was that?))

((You felt that, too?))

((It's at the far end of your sector. Can't really tell what it is from here, but--))

((I see it now. From the looks of that aura, it's an inter-versal collision. Damn. Haven't seen one of those in a few eons. Look after the rest of my sector for a while, will you? The focus of the collision is a sentient being this time, so I can't terminate it as usual. I'll have to fix it from the inside.))

((Of course.))

* * *

Waking up in a padded room was not particularly high on Dr. Wilson's list of things he expected to do within his lifespan.

However, in the space of a few minutes, he had woken up to complete darkness with his arms stuck behind his back, had rolled over several times on a soft, squishy surface, and still hadn't fallen off the edge of the couch. Either the couch had grown, he had shrunk, or he had been moved to a different place altogether. The straitjacket suggested the third option.

Whatever joke House was playing on him now was far more elaborate than anything Wilson had encountered before. Either that or he was having the strangest dream of his life.

He rolled over awkwardly a few times, wondering how big the room was.

_Did House spike the punch?_ he wondered, and a few moments later remembered that the party he was thinking of had been two nights ago, and that he had spent most of yesterday at home with a terrible hangover, _so yes, he _did_ spike the punch. That bastard! ... Now where the hell am I? And where are my socks?_

Wilson struggled to his knees and stood up shakily, blinking rapidly in an effort to see through the darkness. His eyes adjusted enough to let him see a blank door with a small, horizontal window at standing-eye-level, and no doorknob that he could see.

Not encouraging.

"H-hello?" he rasped. He gritted his teeth and cleared his throat. "Hello?!" he shouted as well as he could. Not that he really expected anyone to come running to his rescue, at pitch-dark-o'clock, but even the sound of footsteps would have been encouraging. Wilson walked slowly around the room with his right shoulder on the wall, trying to get his bearings. The room he was in was somewhat smaller than his bathroom, had all of its surfaces covered in soft psych-ward material, and had only the one door.

Where _was_ this place, anyway?

Wilson bumped his head lightly against the door in an attempt to wake himself. _I am still dreaming,_ he attempted to assure himself, _and will definitely have to have a serious talk with House about_ not spiking my drinks.

Because _that is not_ a nice _thing to do_ to a friend and whoa this _was definitely not the best feeling he'd_ ever had--

Wilson had not been expecting to find himself hanging halfway off the couch in House's living room, and thus fell the rest of the way to the floor with a thump.

"Crap," he grumbled, with none of the hoarseness he'd experienced earlier. In his dream. Right. There was no way that could have been real _but he could still feel the padded floor give slightly under his bare feet_--

He wiggled his toes slightly and was marginally relieved to find his socks still on.

"Aha. You did fall off the couch. You owe me ten bucks."

"I do not," responded Wilson automatically, before analyzing the full import of waking up to House's voice.

For one thing, that meant House had woken up _before_ him, and for another, what day did that make this and _what_ had House used to spike the punch, anyway, because that _had_ to have been something illegal.

"Relax, trooper," House called from the kitchen, amusement written in every syllable. "It's Sunday. Thought you could use the sleep. What's the matter, can't hold your alcohol?"

Wilson groaned and used the coffee table as a crutch while hoisting himself off the floor. "Since when have _you_ ever cared about my well-being?" he demanded, untangling himself from his blankets. Not exactly his wittiest response, but it was Sunday morning and he was dealing with both a drugged-out headache and House, which were basically the same thing anyway. He gave up on rescuing his legs from the blankets and settled for curling up on himself and rubbing his temples.

"Wilson, I'm hurt. I always care about your well-being," announced House, stomping in from the kitchen while balancing a plate stacked high with waffles in his free hand. "Which is why I _was_ going to treat you to breakfast-in-bed. Well, I guess now it should be breakfast-on-floor, unless, you know, you wanna put those sexy, long legs to use and _get up_."

"... House, you're kind of scaring me," said Wilson, scooting away and making no move to stand up, eyeing the waffles warily. House rolled his eyes, setting the plate on the coffee table for Wilson's inspection.

"They're frozen waffles, you wimp. Fresh from the toaster."

"That makes me feel immeasurably better."

House blinked, tilting his head and glancing sideways in mock contemplation. "Which now makes you the _only_ person I have ever heard use the word 'immeasurably' within ten minutes of waking up."

"Wow. I'm just that good at pillow talk, am I?" muttered Wilson, poking suspiciously at the stack of waffles, finally deciding he was too hungry to protest and grabbing one to eat.

"The sex isn't bad, either," said House smugly, sitting down on the couch next to Wilson and leaning back. He tracked the trajectory of Wilson's mouthful of waffle as it landed back on his plate, before breaking down and snickering at the downright horrified look on his friend's face. "By now you think you'd have learned..."

"Drugged. Hung over. Not funny," managed Wilson, squinting hard and trying unsuccessfully to make the remaining bit of waffle in his hand look appetizing again. He sighed and placed it back on his plate, went to lean backward on the couch, _and suddenly the couch wasn't there_--

"Oof."

"Jimmy?"

"Is today the day where everybody abuses their roommates? Because I don't think you've ever gotten me twice in a row like this before," said Wilson, completely irritated now, "three times if you count the drugged punch, but that was two nights ago--" and then he realized the floor was a tad too squishy to be carpet.

Backing into the wall, he thought detachedly, was most certainly _not_ an overreaction in this situation. The padded room was back, in full light this time. His arms were still restrained at his sides. And Dr. Cameron, of all people, was in the room now, too, crouching unobtrusively in the corner and dressed not in her usual snappy sweatervest-and-slacks combination, but in standard, blue-green hospital scrubs.

Wilson paused, staring contemplatively at Cameron's startled expression. His mind wandered for a moment, confused as he was. Psych wards didn't usually put people into padded cells unless they were suicidal-- kept them from killing themselves by banging their heads on the walls.

"Jimmy?" asked Cameron again, interrupting his thoughts, walking slowly on her knees towards him, as if he were a wild creature she was trying to tame. _Since when has she ever called me that?_

"What?" snapped Wilson, pushing his back firmly against the wall. He idly realized that snapping at a person while barefoot and in a straitjacket did not present the most intimidating front possible, but it was all he had at the moment. Surprisingly, Wilson's sharp reply produced a flinch in Cameron, and an even more surprised stare. And a dropped jaw.

"Um... stay right here. I'm going to get Dr. Chase, okay?" she said, backing away and standing up slowly, hand still outstretched as if to keep him in place.

Wilson scrambled up as quickly as he could without leverage from his arms-- was she leaving?-- and shouted "Wait!" Cameron stopped, though it looked more out of fright than out of any reaction to what he'd actually said. "What's Chase going to do? Where am I?"

"He-- You--" began Cameron haltingly, but stumbled backwards out the door before she could finish her sentence.

"Hey!" shouted Wilson. _This is irrational, you've already scared her, she's not going to give you any answers if you keep acting like this--_ his brain yelled at him, but he ducked his head and ran into the door with his shoulder before she could close it again. He heard her shriek in surprise as she slid the door shut, and heard her footsteps pounding down the corridor.

Wilson collapsed against the padded door, thudding his head against it in frustration and utter confusion.

This wasn't right, none of this was right...


	2. Dysphoria

Awtra stumbled clumsily out of the strange laboratory as soon as he figured out how the simple glass door was meant to function. It had only taken him a minute or so, but the being he'd possessed in order to move around in this world had only two hands. To make matters worse, he didn't have the luxury of spherical awareness anymore, having only two eyes and no other visual sensory organs.

((Now I remember why I hate these internal missions so much,)) he mumbled, attempting to straighten his long white outer garment so that it looked like the clothing of the other natives walking about. ((I can never get used to there being only _three_ spatial dimensions.))

"Dr. Chase!" The voice was coming from behind him-- it took him another unnecessary moment to register that he'd have to _turn his body around_ to see the speaker-- and the young female looked completely distraught. Elevated respiration and pulse, slightly dilated pupils, and quick, abrupt movements-- definitely distraught. She came to a stop in front of him.

((What's going--)) began Awtra, then remembered with some annoyance that these beings couldn't understand his normal superspatial voice. "What's going on?" he asked again, modulating his voice into the nonstandard lilt he'd heard his host speak with while he'd been observing him earlier.

The female shivered, very slightly, before looking up to make eye contact, but otherwise didn't seem to notice his slip. "The patient that was transferred here from Canada two months ago... He's completely awake and coherent."

Awtra stared, edging frantically around his host's mind for a proper way to respond. He (meaning the host body he'd hijacked for the moment) was Dr. Chase, he knew that much. He was a physician specializing in intensive care, the nervous female was called Dr. Cameron, and the patient from Canada had been _completely_ catatonic only the day before--

_Well,_ he thought, _at least I found the focus quickly. I can get to work right away._

"Have you talked to House yet?" he asked, letting the human's brain take over. It was easier that way, most of the time. The host wasn't aware of his presence at all and it kept him from falling under suspicion.

"No, but you're the attending physician," replied Cameron, puzzled.

"... Right." Awtra emitted a superspatial curse that made the tiny hairs on Cameron's arms stand up in instinctive fear. Cameron crossed her arms and stared warily at him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, dropping her professional air for a more concerned one. Awtra waved her away.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm gonna go check on 'im now, then." And he skittered around the corner before she could question him again.

* * *

"H-hey. Anybody out there?"

Wilson didn't really think anyone would answer him. He'd had his face pressed against the small window for what he judged to be about an hour, and in that time no one had passed by his room. Cell. Whatever. He wasn't sure if this weird set-up had cast him as a mental patient or a criminal, but either way, the straitjacket was beginning to make his arms go numb. Wriggling uncomfortably, he curled up in a corner and sighed, leaning against the padded wall.

_Except it was actually a couch, now._ With his eyes closed, he could _feel House kneeling awkwardly next to him, one hand on his shoulder._ The sensation of warmth next to him didn't fit in with the rest of his perception of the room around him-- which was empty. He opened his eyes, surprised. What the--

_"Wilson? Wilson! Wake up, damn it... or I'll tell Cuddy that the whoopee cushions at the last board meeting were your idea!"_

Which they hadn't been, incidentally, but the plea was so completely _House_ that Wilson turned his face towards the voice and thought he could almost see him.

The soft sound of the door opening yanked him out of his doze, shattering the feeling of House's presence and leaving Wilson feeling oddly cold. He shook his head forcefully and craned his head upwards to get a better look at whoever had just entered the room. He could only see the white coat and a face framed by wavy, light hair--

"Chase?"

((Uh... in a matter of speaking.))

"Ack!" Wilson fell over sideways and cowered on the floor for a moment, ribs shaking in terror.

"Gah, sorry. I keep forgetting I'm not supposed to do that--" Chase mumbled, kneeling down beside Wilson and helping him sit back up. "You're James Wilson?"

"Th-that's me," stuttered Wilson. He couldn't quite control the shaking in his torso and hunched over, twitching and trying to clutch at his stomach through the straitjacket. "_Haah._ What was that?" Anyone who could reduce a person to a quivering wreck with just his voice had to be-- Wilson halted that train of thought, unsure of where it was going. He tried to cram himself backwards into the corner. "What are you?"

Chase was silent. Wilson could see that his eyes were wide, and thought he might just have been surprised at the unexpectedness of the question. He waited for the delayed response... but Chase's mouth stayed shut.

"... Cripes." Wilson was beginning to despair for his own sanity. He'd slipped into a world where Cameron didn't know him, he was a mental patient (or a criminal, his mind reminded him helpfully), and Chase was possibly not human. God only knew what House would be.

"I need you to stay calm," said Chase, gently supporting Wilson, keeping him from keeling over again. "I can explain everything to you, but I need you to cooperate."

"Do I have a choice?" snapped Wilson, squirming weakly to emphasize the straitjacket.

"There is that," conceded Chase, and he moved a hand to the nearest set of buckles, on Wilson's left side. There was an odd moment where Chase simply ran his fingers across each one, and suddenly the straps jerked beneath his hands and the buckles _flew apart_.

"What the--" Wilson gaped, staring back and forth between the undone buckles and Chase's face.

"You were right in assuming I wasn't human," said Chase, shrugging and meeting his eyes evenly, "but it's a bit more complicated than that. I'm just using this body to communicate with you."

"You... then what _are_ you?" he demanded again, shrugging out of his restraints and rubbing feeling back into his wrists and arms.

"I look after this sector of... well, I don't think your language has a word for it yet. Your physicists haven't discovered my dimension yet, and I doubt they ever will. Your 'universe,' I suppose, though the concept is a bit more complex than that."

Wilson stared. He seemed to be doing a lot of that today.

Chase-- who wasn't actually Chase, but an alien who was possessing him?-- sighed and waved a hand in the air, producing a bright yellow marble out of nowhere, holding it between two fingers.

"Look. Imagine that your world-- meaning your universe and everything you're familiar with-- is this yellow sphere," he said. "And that this world, the one we're in now--" he flicked the fingers of his other hand and another marble appeared, this time blue-- "is this blue one." The two marbles floated out of his hands and rotated around each other, vaguely resembling a model of a solar system that Wilson recalled from his schooling.

"Watch."

The two marbles began to spin faster and faster, their circular paths drawing closer until--

_Fwoom._ Wilson jumped at the puff of green smoke that erupted and gazed blankly at the misshapen blob of... something that was hovering in mid-air between himself and Chase. It wasn't a marble like the two it had started as, but instead resembled a drop of viscous swamp water. A murky green blob with a tiny fog of smoke around it.

"That's not good, is it?" asked Wilson, feeling a bizarre urge to laugh.

"Events like this don't happen often," said Chase, strangely calm, "but it's part of my job to straighten them out when they do. Your world and this world were the two universes that collided, and so far, you're the only person in either one-- or both, actually, since there's a version of you existing in each one-- who knows it happened. That's why I'm here; I can work better if I have a vantage point over each world... and you're it."

"... Oh," Wilson said, and sighed.


End file.
